Guarding the Guardians
by DreamBrother
Summary: When federal agents start becoming the target of a nameless, faceless killer without any apparent agenda, how long before one of the team becomes the next agent down? Now COMPLETE!
1. Introduction

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Summary:**When federal agents start becoming the target of a nameless, faceless killer without any apparent agenda, how long before one of the team becomes the next agent down?

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**An experiment, doing something a bit more case-related. Solve a mystery, find the bad guy etc. Also, I needed to get the opening scene out of my head, where it's been since late May, story can be developed later, even if it's a typical one and has been done a million times before. But first, I need my Coco Pops, I'm hungry.

Also, I'm not very aware of police protocol etc, so bear with me.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Introduction)**

The FBI group and the CalSci group, with one Alan Eppes presiding, were gathered around the dining table at the Eppes' Craftsman home. It was a tight fit, but they managed. Dinner had been served and eaten, and everyone was now enjoying a huge helping of home-made vanilla ice-cream, courtesy of Larry Fleinhardt and his container of liquid nitrogen.

"You know you've come a long way from Winchester, Idaho when ice-cream is made in front of you at the dinner table, in the space of a few seconds," commented Colby, as he accepted the serving Don passed to him.

"Man, it's taken you this long to realize that? I knew this wasn't New York when I found out there are no decent pizza places at all, and you have to drive everywhere," said David.

"Come on, David, you're saying that as if you don't love having an excuse to drive that big red jeep of yours around," chided Megan, looping an arm through Larry's as he got done with mixing the liquid nitrogen and serving the ice cream.

"And according to statistics, New York and Los Angeles are total opposites when it comes down to the main means of transportation, with most New Yorkers not owning a car, but in L.A there's a registered vehicle for every 1.8 people," contributed Charlie.

"Well I can tell you for certain that transportation is not a major cause of concern in Antarctica, that's for sure," added Millie, "but it's not my home town so I guess that doesn't count."

"What I'd like to comment on is how we've managed to work our way from talking about instant ice-cream to forms of transportation across the United States and Antarctica in the space of a few sentences," said Alan.

"After all these years, does it still surprise you Dad?" asked Don, as he leaned back in his chair.

Alan was prevented from answering as Don's cell-phone rang, and as though a switch had been flipped, David, Megan and Colby paused in whatever conversation they were engaged in with others at the table to look at their team-leader as he answered the phone and listened to the person on the other end.

"Eppes," greeted Don in his usual succinct way. Whatever the person on the other line said, however, wasn't usual. All those sitting around the table didn't need to be trained in the art of reading body language to guess that the semi-bowed head and the clenched jaw were not reactions to good news. All as one, they listened to Don's side of the conversation:

"Which agents? ... Any witnesses? ... Have their families been informed?" Don's tone then changed from questioning to commanding, shedding any surprise or shock to take control of the situation at hand, "Their team lead is in Dallas… have his family taken to a safe house until we figure out the motive and have him picked up by an agent as soon as he lands… I'm with my team, I'll brief them. Address? Alright, we'll be there in 20," and with that Don flipped his phone shut and looked up to see all eyes on him.

"Don?" Megan was the first to query, worry leaving the slightest of traces in her voice.

"Harper and Collins have been shot and killed. They were off-duty, underground parking garage at Harper's apartment building, no witnesses. Looks like it might have been pre-meditated. Let's go," said Don, getting up and clipping his cell-phone on to its place on his belt and checking that his gun was in its holster. His team mimicked the move but Megan could not prevent herself from saying:

"But Collins just got married a month ago," protested Megan, the shock of losing two fellow agents in the space of a few seconds cracking her professional demeanour for a second. David and Colby were also not far removed from mimicking Megan themselves, their eyes not leaving Don, brows furrowed.

Don paused before answering, "So it couldn't have been the wife. Even Collins couldn't have pissed her off that fast," the almost detached and uncaring words were enough to make Megan remember that they couldn't break down now; the time to mourn was for after. "AD Wright's already informed the families, Gallagher's been told, he's flying back now. Wright wants this to be our main priority, so Megan, I need you to go to office and sign off and transfer our other cases and start pulling records on the last few cases the guys worked on and check if any of the people Harper Collins are responsible for putting in jail have been released in the past… year. Let's roll."

And with that, the agents started moving towards the front door, grabbing their coats on the way out, Don was the last to leave but before he left he remembered that they weren't alone. Turning to the CalSci contingent and his father, he said, "Sorry guys, we'll try and stick around for longer, next time."

Charlie quickly found his voice and piped up, "Do you need me to come with? I can get a head start on some calculations, help you-," but was interrupted by his brother.

"Not now Charlie, let us get a handle on the situation first, I'll call you when we need you, alright?" Without waiting for an answer Don turned on his heels and followed in his team's footsteps, outside the front door.

Charlie and Alan, as well as Larry, Amita and Millie, sat in silence as they heard car doors open and slam, engines start and vehicles pull away from the driveway and down the street. The turning on of sirens was the last sound to reach their ears.

**TBC**

* * *

Well, there you have it. The intro. I'm not sure how quickly I'l be writing the story, I might just take it slow, fill in the gaps with oneshots. Hope the one-sided conv. didn't get too confusing and that I've got the gist of it across. 

But then again, I do not doubt the power of reviews to make me write faster and to keep the muse well-oiled :-). Good, bad, let me know what you think. Ooh, mail's here, I wonder if my Jeff Buckley album has come -zips off to check-


	2. Preliminaries

**Author:** DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:** Trust me; you would be the first to know if I owned Numb3rs. I wouldn't keep it a secret :-)

**Author's Note:** The summary sounds really ominous, right? I'm kinda proud. But it also sounds very 'been there, done that', so my advice to you is to not expect a new twist on things, I have a feeling this story is going to be very clichéd. Oh well. References will be made to Season 2 ep, _Judgement __Call_, the math stuff will probably be taken from there. There's a huge ass spider on the curtain… Holy frick.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians **

**(Part II)**

The arrival of 3 government issued SUV's alerted Detective Morse of LAPD of the presence of the FBI at the crime scene. Excusing himself from the one of the forensic guys, Morse made his way towards the agents and lifted the police tape to let the dark-haired senior agent, with his team mates flanking him on either side, through.

"Special Agent Eppes, FBI, what have we got?" said Don in way of greeting, pulling out and snapping on his gloves, David and Colby doing the same.

"Detective Morse, LAPD. The call came in from a fellow resident, he was on his way out, saw the bodies, called 911. He didn't see anyone around, says he didn't touch anything, paramedics just checked for any vital signs. Other than that, the bodies haven't been moved," stated Morse, hating the fact that he was referring to the agent's colleagues as nothing more than 'bodies', but in their line of work, that was the nature of the beast. "When our forensic guys saw the FBI ID, we called you. We've handed over the crime scene to your forensic team; I was just waiting for you."

"Alright, thank you, we'll take it from here," dismissed Don, eyes fixed on the crime scene in front of him. Colby piped up from behind him:

"I'll take the first responder's statement and pull the security tapes."

"Thanks, you do that," replied Don. With David by his side, Don went towards the whole point of the crime scene: the dead agents. Don knelt by Harper, noticing the two bullet wounds in the centre of the chest, the exact same on Collins except he had three. Commenting to the coroner who was standing next to him, making notations on her chart he commented, "Guess 5 years of medical school isn't needed to know what killed them."

The coroner shook her head, she knew these faces in front of her, she had performed autopsies for murders they had investigated, and now they were the one who needed an autopsy, but they wouldn't be doing the investigation, "Double tap for Harper, centre mass, triple for Collins, minimal bleeding, most likely killed instantly."

"Looks like they were taken by surprise. Shooter probably went after Harper first, two shots, and three for Collins before he could get to his weapon and shoot back. Guns haven't been moved from their holster, attack probably lasted all of a few seconds," Don summarized, "David?"

"Yeah, that's what I think. Probably didn't expect some random dude walking towards them to suddenly pull a gun and fire," mused David, "The guy had excellent aim."

"It could be a woman, for all we know. Anything's possible. So many motives, so many possibilities," said Don, shaking his head. He called out, "Can somebody pull a sheet over them, please?"

ITSRAINING…BUTONLYFORFIVEMINUTESDARN

Megan put down the last batch off folders on the table in the War Room she had claimed with a thump, and heaved a sigh of relief. Hands on her hips, she took a look at the 3 long tables covered with records and the relief vanished. She was just running through potential profiles in her head, what characteristics a cop killer would exhibit, when she was interrupted by a curly haired man poking his head through the door.

"Megan? May I come in?" asked Charlie cautiously.

Megan turned around and allowed a small smile for Charlie, "Of course Charlie, you don't need permission. Did Don call you?"

"Not yet, said he might call after he 'got a handle on things' but I figured the early bird catches the worm right?"

"More like a cowardly scumbag rather than tasty worm food," murmured Megan. "Are you going to run a Bayesian filter like you did last time, when the Federal Judge's wife was murdered?"

"That's what I was thinking, yeah. Anything else I should know, particular to these murders?" asked Charlie.

"Well, the guys should be back from the crime scene any minute now, let's listen to what they have to say about what happened. The files here are just the usual suspects, you could say," said Megan, waving her hand around, "People who have been jailed or killed by the two agents, the families and friends and co-conspirators of those criminals. It could also be related to any cases Harper and/or Collins might have been needed to testify in court for. Or, if our guy is not petty, he's making a statement against the government or all the law enforcement agencies," finished Megan.

Charlie's eyebrows lifted higher and higher as Megan listed all the 'usual suspects', "Is that all?" asked Charlie sarcastically.

"I haven't mentioned the death threats yet. But they're not as important as you might think. The descriptive ones are usually less of a threat because they're venting their rage, not letting it simmer inside and plot secretly," added Megan. "It's the quiet ones who come to bite you in the ass later on."

"So death threats, in the grander scheme of things, are to be welcomed?" asked Charlie.

Megan looked over to him and smiled, "Welcome to my world, Charlie. Hope the many shades of grey don't put you off too much."

Charlie was saved from replying by the advent of his brother, David and Colby, all three looking more harassed than usual, when working on multiple murder cases. David went to the laptop near the plasma screen to bring up the crime scene photos. Don came and stood in front of Charlie and Megan.

"Hey Charlie, what are you doing here? I told you I'd call," said Don almost reproachfully.

"I know, but I didn't want to sit at home and do nothing, you know? Figured every little bit helps," said Charlie, silently asking his brother for his support.

Don kept looking at him for a few seconds before clapping him on the shoulder, "Thanks Charlie, appreciate it. Megan?"

"I've signed off our other cases to other teams, pulled all the records you wanted me too, they're all here," said Megan gesturing to the many folders surrounding them, "Gallagher's family are at the safe house, an agent met Gallagher at the airport, he should be here soon. The AD went personally to tell Collin's wife and Harper's parents are flying in from Wyoming. The mother of his 3-yr old has also been told."

"Thanks. We don't think this was a random shooting, looks pre-meditated to me. Harper and Collins were taken by surprise; shot centre mass, point blank, didn't even have time to draw their weapons. Guns, wallets etc weren't touched. It was a clean and simple attack, no witnesses. Colby's working on getting the security footage," said Don. "It's possible that this guy was only after Harper, that he knew where he lived and all and gained access to his building, Collins might just have wrong place, wrong time, you know?"

"Or both of them could have been the targets and the killer was tailing them, knew of their movements. I talked to Collin's wife; she said he and Harper had planned to watch a basketball game at his place."

Colby walked up to them, "Hey. Just got a call, the bullets used were 9mm hollow-point, this guy was going for the kill, but he didn't bother to police his brass. And 9mm is also the most common gun around, so good luck to us finding the murder weapon easily."

"Maybe the security footage will give us a leg up, and Gallagher might be able to point us towards some likely suspects," offered David.

"That's true. But he's also going to want to investigate the murders himself. He's not going to take being told to back off easily," said Don.

"I don't understand, why can't he work with you guys on this?" piped up Charlie. Don and his team had remained on the case when Megan had been kidnapped by Crystal Hoyle, another team hadn't been called in to investigate and take point.

"Charlie, the man just lost his whole team, guys that he's worked with for over 3 years. He's not going to be thinking rationally or logically. I wouldn't be surprised if he goes and pays a visit to the first person he thinks did this," said Don. Looking out towards the elevators and seeing who got off them, he murmured, "Speak of the devil…" and putting down the folder in his hand, he went out of the War Room and intercepted a broad shouldered, blonde haired man who looked ready to kill. Charlie watched as Don spread his arms in front of the man who must be Gallagher in a gesture of peace, and lead him into a nearby interrogation room, where both man exchanged words, Gallagher apparently fuming and Don trying to pacify him.

"I don't know what would be worse: Anticipating the death of somebody on your team and then receiving confirmation, or being blind-sided like Gallagher's just been," David speculated.

**TBC**

* * *

Well that certainly was an excercise in writing, having to concentrate on plot, rather than characters and emotions. Let me know what you thought. Are you still interested? Or should I go back to writing oneshots until I'm of a more crime investigator mind-set? 

Excuse any inaccuricies with the method of investigating, I'm not especially familiar with it, in spite of being a big fan of crime shows like Numb3rs and NCIS. Thanks to all those who reviewed the introduction, much appreciated. Now review this one, I shall be waiting :-). Man, I'm shameless...


	3. Interlude

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**Hey guys, thanks for the reviews and input (Susan, I took the Charlie bit from episodes like _Hot Shot, Harvest, Money for Nothing_, where he just meets up with Don and Don starts talking when asked, but thanks for your suggestions, it means a lot that you're willing to help me out with the technicalities.). I'll try my best to channel my inner-Grissom. Live and learn, right?

Can you imagine, I was listening to some of the songs of _Les __Misérables_ while writing this? Don and Charlie and Jean Valjean…Hmm. Dreamed up this chapter (literally) but couldn't type it down after because I was going into London that day. Brother #2 can be awesome when he wants to be, it turns out. If I've messed up on procedure etc, then… Oops :)

Reference made to _Assassin_.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Part III)**

**Interlude**

Charlie quietly opened the front door to the house and tiptoed inside, doing his best to close and lock the door behind him noiselessly. It was late and he didn't want to wake his father. With finals to be graded and the murderer of two federal agents to help find on top of that, Charlie was a busy, busy man and had been so for the last few days. Turning around, he began to creep his way towards the stairs, mentally trying to remember which stair was it exactly that creaked and was responsible for his parents catching Don trying to sneak out of the house for a party late one night during their senior year in high school. He had barely taken a few steps when a voice called out of the dark to him:

"And where do you think you're going? And coming from?"

Charlie whirled around, shock clearly etched onto his face to see his big brother sitting on the sofa, legs put up onto the coffee table, exhaustion lining his features yet he wasn't in a sleeping position.

"Don! Didn't see you there," commented Charlie.

"Clearly. You haven't answered my question," said Don, watching his brother. His words may have been meant to be light but his flat tone dispelled any humorous intent.

"Well, since I own the house, and I'm not a minor any longer, out without his parent's permission, I do not have to answer you," argued Charlie.

"You're in luck. I'm too tired to get my Sherlock Holmes cap on and use the powers of deduction to figure out where you were," replied Don.

"One would assume that if you're tired, you make an effort to sleep, not to sit in the dark and wait for your little brother to come home," commented Charlie, "Wait, you weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

"Do I look like a parent to you?" asked Don, allowing himself a small smile at the thought of him turning into Alan, complete with the white hair and the hands on hips.

"For Dad's sake, if only," replied Charlie, "Finally decided to take a break from the office?"

"Colby, Megan and David decided for me. They ganged up on me, threatened dire consequences and added that Jim, one of the surveillance guys, would contact them if I tried to sneak back in before 7 am," informed Don, turning his head and staring straight ahead, into the darkness. Looking at what? Charlie had no clue.

"Uh huh… So you're going to resist by not sleeping?" asked Charlie.

"No, I just don't feel like sleeping, you know?" replied Don.

"Erm… No, I don't. It's pretty simple math to me, I feel tired, I sleep. Something you could do with," advised Charlie, coming over to sit in the leather chair next to the sofa. Noticing the black jacket his brother still wore, he asked, "What's with the suit? You usually go for casual during a case."

"Funeral," came the clipped reply.

"Oh," Charlie paused, then tried for cautious, "No new leads on who the killer is?"

"You'd know if I knew. And your math hasn't been able to come up with anything definitive, so a strike out in that area as well," said Don. "The surveillance footage only caught the agents as they were walking and got shot, nothing of the shooter. Either he's very good or very lucky. Colby and David are looking into how somebody could have found a blind spot in the surveillance."

"Maybe the guy's reflection was caught on the cars or mirrors and windows. I could try to run some photo enhancement on that but I can't promise any results," offered Charlie.

"It's ok Charlie; anything we try now is going to be a long shot. Unless we get a tip or something, or the guys kills again and slips up, our chances of finding him aren't looking too good right now," said Don. "Hell, even knowing the motive would be good. Collins's wife and Harper's parents and eventually, his kid, would really like to know _why_ their husband, son and father are dead, even if they don't know who did it."

"I think I can understand that. In the long run, it doesn't really matter _who_ pulled the trigger, your loved one still isn't going to come back," added Charlie quietly. This was territory Charlie was not very familiar with, and to be honest, he didn't want to be. As he'd told Gabriel Ruiz a year ago, he didn't think about Don's work at the FBI and the constant danger he was in, very much. But here it was, shoved into his face, that people like Don could get shot for being who they were whilst just walking towards, or away from, their car.

"I guess… but it'd be really nice if we could put the bastard behind bars, or on death row, as well," said Don.

"From an investigator point-of-view, yes. But after the killer has been sentenced to life imprisonment, or given the needle, there'd be nothing left to distract ourselves with and have no choice but to think of the result of the killer's actions," philosophized Charlie.

Don glanced at his brother, taking in his expression, and asked dryly, "Not speaking from experience, are we?"

"No, of course not, don't be an idiot," said Charlie. _But maybe __from the __potential __to __experience__ something like that one day_, thought Charlie.

"Shouldn't you be in bed by now? Don't you have classes to teach in the morning?" asked Don, remembering where his brother had been headed before he had stopped him, artfully hiding his true intent of wanting to spend some time with his brother behind the façade of a disapproving parent-act, a little peace in his otherwise stressful day. No matter how many times he saw it, crying widows and grieving parents were never easy to witness. Having to offer your condolences to them was another ball-game entirely, especially when you knew the deceased well and had worked with them for a long time, arguing with Boston native Red Sox fan Collins somewhere along the line and trying to out-bluff Harper during a game of poker. Add in the fact that the weight was on your shoulders to try and find the murderer, before he killed again or disappeared forever…

"Shouldn't you be in _your_ bed? Don't you have murderers to catch in the morning?" retorted Charlie. "Come on bro, you're doing nothing for yourself just sitting here in the dark when you could be resting."

"You sure can be bossy late at night," grumbled Don as he stood up and stretched, easing the stiffness in his joints. Don was just about to follow his brother towards the stairs when the sound of his cell phone ringing filled the air.

_I could really begin to hate that sound_, thought both brothers.

"Eppes," said Don, answering the phone quickly. "Where? Ok, be there in 15."

Hanging up the phone, Don looked at his brother and shrugged apologetically, "Looks like sleep will have to wait. An ATF agent's been found murdered. See you around, buddy."

Charlie stood rooted in his place as he watched his brother exit and leave.

_Another agent…,_ thought Charlie worriedly.

**TBC**

* * *

Now this is more my territory. Hope you liked. But another agent bites the dust. The plot thickens (like soup?). One question, for somebody who knows, can you identify that the gun is the same one from the bullet casings it leaves behind at different places?

Man, I love 'Work Song' and 'Look Down' from Les Miserables. John Owen-Jones is one excellent singer.

Harry Potter coming out soon -drum roll-, bet you'd rather read that. But before then, review, s'il vous plait?


	4. Progression

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't, and never shall be (sniff), mine.

**Author's Note:**Thanks, thanks and beyond thanks to those answered my question regarding matching bullet casings etc, the same to those who reviewed. Hope you like this chapter as well. P.S if you recognize any of the names I use for the characters, they're probably musicians or other famous people. I think I'm about to go on a Pearl Jam/Mother Love Bone streak with this fic.

Also, I may have tweaked some stuff for this fic, especially regarding latter half of the chapter. I'm not exactly sure of how the media works in the US regarding the death of law enforcement officers.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians **

**(Part IV)**

"Hey David, what have we got?" asked Don and he ducked under the police tape to where his team-mate was standing waiting for him.

"ATF agent Gossard, he was walking home from the bar a few blocks away, he didn't bother driving there, car is still at his apartment. Colby's at the bar now, talking to the people there and Megan's canvassing his neighbours to ask if they noticed anything unusual in the past few days," said David.

"Alright, that's a good start. Any chance we're looking at the same person who killed our agents?" asked Don as he made his way towards the body.

"Hard to say for sure, his MO isn't exactly unique or unusual. But there are similarities. Gossard was shot twice in the chest, centre mass, like Harper, and the casings look to be the same. Can't confirm until ballistics get their hands on it, and the murder weapon, to match," said David.

Don looked at the positioning of the body and asked, "You said he was walking home, right? And his apartment is in that direction?" pointing to the right.

"Yeah, that's right," confirmed David.

"From the way he's fallen, it looks like he turned around to face his attacker. It may be that he heard him behind him but his reaction time was delayed because of the drinks he might have had. Or," mused Don, "our guy deliberately grabbed his attention, not wanting to shoot Gossard in the back. I mean, look at Harper and Collins. The shooter faced down two trained FBI agents in the blink of an eye, even if it was a surprise attack."

"Which means the shooter is confident about his abilities. Looking at his aim, he's probably right," replied David. "But he's a killer. Why is he trying to do the 'honourable' thing of facing his victim, not just shooting from behind?"

"Because he's a psycho, that's why," said Don. He heard his name called and saw two men dressed in suits walking his way.

"I'm Agent Eppes… Where are you guys from?" queried Don.

"I'm Agent Gilmore, this is Agent Wood," said the first man, indicating his partner, "We're from ATF and that's our man there. If the FBI doesn't mind, we'd like to investigate his death on our own," said Gilmore.

"I'm sorry about your agent but I'm afraid I can't let you take the case," apologized Don. "We have reason to believe the same man who killed two of our agents a few nights ago also killed your guy."

"And to our knowledge, you have gotten nowhere finding the man who killed your agents," argued Wood, "let us find the person who killed our man, you concentrate on finding yours. If they're the same person, even better, because that would mean two agencies are working full time on catching him, instead of one."

"We appreciate the offer but like I said before, we're taking this. I promise, we'll keep you in the loop and as soon as we require any assistance during the investigation, you're the first people we'll call, alright?" stated Don, his tone clearly saying that the discussion was over. With a nod, he turned around towards his agent who had called his name. "What is it, David?"

"Gossard's badge. It's not on him. His ID is, but not his shield."

RIPANDREWWOODOFMOTHERLOVEBONEANDLAYNESTALEYOFALICEINCHAINS

"So, Colby, find anything interesting from the bar?" asked Don as the team sat in the war room, collecting all the facts and the tid-bits they had collected.

"Not much. The barman said Gossard was a semi-regular visitor, never had more than a few beers at most, sometimes accompanied by 'other suits', he's probably talking other ATF agents. Apparently, Gossard hardly ever drove to the bar, even if he didn't drink above the drinking limit. Barman said it was because Gossard liked walking home at night if the weather was good, and the apartment wasn't that far way, so it was a mini-exercise for him. Tonight, he had two beers, played a couple rounds of pool with some of the regular customers, something he usually did, and then went home. Thirty minutes later, 911 gets a call, Gossard's dead," finished Colby.

"Alright. Let's see if we can pull the security tapes from the bar, maybe our guy followed him home from there," said Don.

"Shouldn't be a problem, the barman, who's also the owner, is willing to co-operate, he doesn't like having his customers killed off," replied Colby.

"Megan?" prompted Don, turning to his second-in-command.

"Not much from the neighbours, they haven't heard or seen anything unusual, haven't noticed any strangers hanging around outside or nearby, nor any change in Gossard's behaviour. Same cannot be said for his pattern, apparently, he's very erratic. The kind old lady next door was nice enough to tell me that "we worked nice guys like Gossard too hard and how was the poor man supposed to meet and marry a nice girl and raise a family if he kept on running away to chase bad guys." I say Amen to that," sighed Megan.

"The woman reminds me of my dad," commented Don. "Has Gossard's badge been found?" he asked.

"Our forensic team searched his place, came up with nothing. A search of his desk at ATF headquarters also revealed nothing," David said.

"So we've got a missing badge, probably taken by the killer. Any idea why, Megan?"

Megan was prevented from answering when another agent stuck his head in through the door and said:

"Guys, I think you need to see this," pointing to the television which had begun a report.

"Oh crap," chorused the team as the news reader got to the point of the broadcast.

DRIVINGIN5THGEARISAWESOMEFUN

"So, are we going to go the route of health and have the baked chicken and salad that I made, or are we going to say to hell with cholesterol and carbohydrates and order a pizza with everything? Hmm?" asked Alan, looking at Millie who was seated on the couch.

"I say pizza. After a day spent dealing with professors, all whose IQs are near MENSA level, my own health is the least of my worries," commented Millie.

"Those professors you're talking about, do they include a certain curly headed mathematician and an astronaut?" asked Alan, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not today, they aren't. Although compared to telling my astronaut/physicist professor indirectly that I'm kicking him out of the steam tunnels, today was relatively calm," smiled Millie.

"I would think so," said Alan, picking up the cordless, "I'll just order a pizza, we can watch the news until it gets here."

"Okie dokie," said Millie, leaning forward to grab the TV remote and switching it on and flicking to the nearest news channel. When Alan returned and sat next to her, she asked, "How the other son of yours doing? The one who, along with his team, did a nice disappearing act from dinner a few nights ago?"

Alan frowned slightly as he thought, "Don? Haven't seen him since that dinner, he's been working like crazy. Charlie said he was over late last night but had to leave after he got another call. One day, I would like to hide his cell phone so he can know some peace, but that would probably backfire into him freaking out at the thought of losing his cell phone and being out of contact with the G-man world."

Both Alan and Millie paused in their conversation as the news anchor began listing the top stories of that night. The first story she went into detail was about the death of the 2 FBI agents found murdered a few nights ago, which they already knew about, but their attention was grabbed when the lady started speaking about the death of another federal agent, this time Agent Gossard of the ATF, presumably by the same killer. This was followed the item of interest that had grabbed the attention of Don and his team hours ago:

"We at Channel 8 News believe that we have been contacted by the killer. Early this morning, a non-descript small package was dropped off at our station and in it was the missing badge of the murdered ATF agent as well as a short note addressed to the FBI, which reads:

_-Three agents down and you are still nowhere near close to stopping me. How are you going to serve those you have sworn to defend if you cannot even save yourselves?-_

**TBC**

* * *

So, what think you? I got the idea of the killer contacting the news people from the ValTech psycho. Since his stuff was still shown on TV, I figured this would be as well. Did I make sense, there? There should be a book called "Writing case-related fanfiction for Dummies, all you needed to know but were too afraid to ask."

Fingers crossed for Chapter 5...Reviews deeply appreciated and welcomed. Makes me type faster ;) And anybody want to offer last names for characters before I turn my fics into a place for rock musicians to guest star in?


	5. Escalation

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**Sorry for the delay guys, jet lag really laid into me. My fault, partly, for not sleeping on the plane. But in my defence, who wants to sleep while sitting in business class? On the bright side, once I get done with this chapter, chapter 6 might come as early as tomorrow. However, if I disappear, know that it's because I've re-started my Gilmore Girls marathon.

For the layout of the FBI office, I kinda thought back to _Structural Corruption, _for the sake of this chapter.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Part V)**

Don's head was bent as he stepped off the elevator, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. His diverted attention meant that he did not immediately notice that his father was waiting for him, seated on the row of seats opposite the series of elevators. A fruitless day spent at the Channel 8 station had increased his already high levels of frustration. With a plain looking package nobody had seen drop off at the news station, a description of the possible killer was not available to them. Never mind the fact that the 'innocent' looking package could have been a mini-bomb, the media people didn't care, because, look on the bright side, if it is a bomb and it goes off, they have the inside scoop into the latest terror attack in L.A! The killer had even written the note in block letters, effectively making identification through handwriting analysis nearly impossible, nor was he stupid enough to leave his fingerprints on the badge. Don and the FBI were no closer to finding the murderer of three federal agents today, than they were yesterday. Don looked up as he finished zipping up his jacket and his father called his name:

"Hey Dad, what brings you here?

"Well, asked like that, I would say the answer lies somewhere in the fact that my eldest son is said to work around here somewhere and my youngest is occasionally seen around the premises as well," replied Alan.

"Alright wise guy, answer this: Why are you here?" asked Don.

"A father needs a reason to visit his son who he hasn't seen for days?"

"I'm working Dad, you know that," defended Don.

"Yes, but working also means you take a break occasionally. You know, to eat, sleep... visit aging parent?" replied Alan.

"There'll be plenty of time for that once we catch this latest psycho, dad, I promise," said Don.

"Speaking of psychos, how's the investigation going? Millie and I heard his message on the news last night… He sounds very… focused,"

"Focused he is, as well as being a stickler for details. We're hitting dead ends. The only evidence we can find of his presence are a couple of dead agents and some bullet casings," said Don cynically.

"What concerns me now are the living agents, actually. Are you lot taking any precautions or anything?" inquired Alan.

"Precaution? Dad, it's not like we can think of every stranger out on the streets to be against us and pull our gun on every person who seems suspicious or makes a sudden move. Thinking like that will put us on the fast track to either jail or a padded room. We just have to continue as normal. Letting one nutcase disrupt our job is like him achieving his goal, if that's what he wants," replied Don.

"Yes, but-," began Alan.

"Dad, don't worry, we'll be fine. Charlie will probably be able to calculate the odds of one of us being the guy's next choice for target practice if you ask him to. I have to get back to work; I'll try and drop the house in a few days, alright?" And with that, Don turned around and walked towards his office, stopping only to wave his ID card at the guard manning the barrier.

ASLEVELRESULTSONTHE9THYIKES

It was late in the evening at the CalSci campus and Amita worked away silently on her laptop, sitting on the chair in front of Charlie's desk, as her boyfriend wrote away on the blackboard in front of him. An elongated pause in the _cla__c__kety-clack_ of the chalk on the board caused her to look up from her work.

"Charlie? Is everything alright?" she asked.

Charlie tapped the chalk in his hand against the board, thinking, "I don't know Amita, something about this latest case is bothering me and I can't figure out what."

"It's not surprising, Charlie, the killer is targeting federal agents, and it's understandable if you feel concerned for Don's safety…" soothed Amita.

"No, it's not that. Well, it's not _entirely_ about that," amended Charlie, "I think it's the fact that I can't figure out any way or method to help the FBI get a list of suspects, or even an indication of where or whom he's going to strike next. And asking for more data for better results is the same as asking for more agents to die,"

"We both know that's not what you want, but sometimes that's just the way it is, Charlie. Nobody expects you to pull a rabbit out of a hat. You've done the best you could, we've all done the best we could, with the data we have available," said Amita.

"You know, I researched a bit into the killer's choice of bullets, hoping to learn more about him. He uses 9mm hollow points, which are known for having greater accuracy and less chance of ricocheting and hitting innocent bystanders. He's not just some psycho who doesn't care how many people get hurt. Combined with what he said in his note, he just has it in for federal agents," mused Charlie.

"Yeah, I heard his message on TV. It sounded almost as if he's trying to get law enforcement officers to do a better job of saving people by threatening their own safety," offered Amita.

"I know what Don would say to that. He'd be happy the killer is making his point by going after the agents themselves, and not their family or loved ones," said Charlie sadly.

Amita simply smiled and went back to her work on her laptop as Charlie returned his attention back to the equations partly completed on the board. Both were interrupted by the arrival of one Larry Fleinhardt, shuffling into the office, rubbing at his eyes and dropping into the chair next to Amita.

"Charles, Amita, good evening," greeted Larry.

Amita and Charlie exchanged an amused glance before Charlie replied, "Evening Fleinhardt. What brings you here?"

"A sudden awakening from a pleasant, but unplanned, nap I was taking in the faculty lounge. Apparently, the janitor is aware of my lacking ownership of any form of abode at the moment and didn't bother waking me up as he cleaned and locked up the rest of the place," said Larry.

"And he must know that the faculty lounge couch is a lot more comfortable that anything you might have had in the steam tunnels, I believe?" asked Amita.

"It's a possibility," considered the physicist.

"What woke you up?" asked Charlie as he slowly wrote on the blackboard, only half-listening.

"A painful crick in my neck, I believe. I am no longer of the age when I can ignore my body's protests at having to endure such an uncomfortable position on a piece of furniture which, in the grander scheme of things, was not designed for long periods of sleeping on," Larry looked at what Charlie was working on, "Still attempting to find something to help the FBI find the killer of all those agents? I was very sad to hear about the DEA agent."

"ATF," corrected Charlie distractedly.

"No, no, I mean the DEA agent lady," said Larry, "Not that the killing of the ATF agent isn't just as grievous,"

"DEA lady? Larry, where did you hear about that?" asked Amita when Charlie did nothing but stare at his friend and mentor.

"On the news, where else? I thought I'd turn on the TV in the lounge for a few minutes to catch up on the latest events which apparently includes someone called Nicole Richards or Richfield or someone going to jail for a few days. Why they think we need to know that is beyond me," informed Larry, "The anchor said the murder happened about three hours ago. She even said something about another note, along with the agent's badge, being dropped off at a different news station by the killer or someone."

"What did the note say?" prompted Amita exchanging a worried look with Charlie who had begun to shove different items into his backpack and grabbed his cell-phone off his desk.

"Let me think…Oh yes, I believe it was something along the lines of:

_-__I wish it didn't have to be this way. I'm not __going to stop until you stop me-_"

**TBC**

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**

So, what did you guys think? This chapter was a pain in the patootie to write, I think the muse forgot to board the plane with me, it's been left behind in Britian. Ha.

Hope the story isn't dragging. And one tiny query, what do you call those little circus type things you have on the street? You know, with vendors and people in costumes and clowns and giant talking hot-dogs and everything. The word Promenade comes in there somewhere. No worries if you don't get what I'm asking, I'll simply go back to that episode of Angel where it's mentioned. Hmmm.

I'm getting tired of this story. If you review, insert a pep-talk would you? Something along the lines of 'you should always finish what you've started' etc etc etc. Make Aragorn before the gates of Mordor before the final battle proud in your peppy-ness.


	6. Summation

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs still isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**Flakes? Check. Water? Check. Music? Check. Both hands? Check Check. Ok people, let's get on with this. But before that, I would again like to extend my gratitude (I sound like I'm making a speech, don't I?) to all those who've helped me out with the technical stuff, about the bullets and matching them etc. I've done my best to find stuff online (I fear that someone from a Gov. Agency will show up soon on my doorstep saying "Hi there! Your Google and Wikipedia search lists concerns us just a little. Can we talk?") but you know how unreliable and hole-y online stuff can be. Thanks, once again!

And now, we continue. I hope to wrap this up in a few chapters. Should not be more than… 4. Reference made to _Uncertainty Principle_ and _Structural Corruption_.

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**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Part VI)**

"We're missing something. What can we possibly be missing? It's not like we have a ghost on our hands," said Don in frustration as he paced in front of the big plasma screen in the conference room all of his team, including his brother, were gathered in. Behind him, the faces of the murdered agents were plastered on the screen: FBI Agents Harper and Collins killed six nights ago; ATF agent Gossard, killed two nights ago and DEA agent Melissa McCready, killed tonight. Or rather, last night. It was past midnight, early in the seventh day, but the team were just as determined, if not more, to catch the killer.

"We might as well be dealing with a ghost, for all the luck we've had in finding him…or her, the killer still may be a woman," grumbled Megan.

"Let's go over what we already now. One, he, or she," amended Don after a look from Megan, "is only going after federal agents."

"Yes, and only when they are alone and usually in areas where there won't be many witnesses," offered David.

"And he's gone to the trouble of making sure the agents are facing him when he shoots," piped up Colby.

"He also did not do anything to disturb the bodies or anything. Many serial killers like collecting a trophy or branding their victims. This one just took the agent's badge, and that too to prove his identity as the killer to the news station he sends his notes to," said Megan, the profiler in her kicking into gear, "And the notes themselves have a very interesting tone to them. Yes, it fits that like many serial killers, he'll contact the media or the police directly in a subconscious desire to have them stop him, but our guy is almost chiding us for not doing a better job of protecting our own. Why is he so interested in making sure we're safe?"

"He must think we're safer in our graves, the way he's going," commented Don.

"And he seems to want to go after the entire alphabet. In a week, he's got the FBI, DEA and the ATF in his alphabet soup. Maybe we should tell the people of LAPD, DHS, CIA, the Secret Service, NCIS and all to be on alert," suggested Colby dryly. "And maybe our math professor here can come up with a list of those agencies at highest risk based on probabilities or something."

"I think we're better off knowing which news channel the killer might decide to drop his next note and badge off at. At the moment, all the agencies might be at risk. All the directors have told their agents to travel in pairs and to restrict any off duty activities and stay in crowded places etc. You guys got the memo, right?" asked Don, looking at each of his team members in turn.

There was a chorus of Yeah's with David adding, "But it's kinda double-edged sword isn't it? If we travel in pairs, chances are he's going to kill two agents that night, even if he's targeting one. And by hanging around in public places only, we might be forcing the killer to endanger innocent people. He doesn't strike me as the type of killer who's going to back down if opportunity is taken away from him."

Charlie was listening intently, not butting in because, honestly, he had nothing to offer. It made him uneasy, however, at the calm way everyone was talking of a possible, imminent death, either their own or someone they might know. You couldn't get further away from the safe world of academia than this. He wondered if his being here counted as an excursion outside his 'giant, plastic bubble' as his brother had once put it. Not wanting to seem as though he couldn't care less about his brother's latest predicament, he quickly tuned in again.

"-finding these agents?" inquired Colby's voice.

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard. I think the killer cased out his target for some time before finally making his move. Whereabouts of all the federal agencies headquarters is public knowledge, he may just have decided to follow some agents home, learnt their routine. He's certainly methodical enough. We can't find any connection between the victims, for all we know neither of them ever met. He may be picking off agents at random... Sorry, Charlie," apologized Megan.

Charlie smiled off any recrimination and Don spoke up, "He may be methodical but maybe he didn't perfect his technique here. We should look into any unsolved murders of federal agents with similar M.O's across the country in the past year."

"Good idea. I'll get on that," said David, standing up and exiting the room to make his way towards his desk.

"I'll go over the surveillance footage from around where the DEA agent was killed, maybe I'll spot a familiar face," said Colby, following David out the door.

"And I'll try and get into this guy's head better, or something," offered Megan, mimicking her team-mates actions, leaving the two brothers alone for the first time in a few days.

Don was leaning against the table, looking at the plasma screen in front of him, and Charlie went to his side.

"You know, Dad really misses seeing you around the house," he began, "He likes having someone who can at least give Millie_ some_ competition in the board games department."

"I bet," said Don, "He dropped by a few days ago. For a second I thought he'd come to ask me to go on a double date with him and Millie."

"Oh, you mean like the time he had that blind date with the duck woman and you called Terry?" thought back Charlie.

"The one and the only date. You really missed out on a laugh that day bro. It's lucky he found Mom, because if that's how he dates, we would never have been born," said Don, smiling at the memory of his father's disastrous date.

The brothers lapsed into silence as looked at the pictures of the fallen agents. Charlie went out on a limb and said, "I hope you don't think it's your job, and your job only, to stop the murderer and save everyone?"

Don sighed and shuffled his feet a bit before answering, "One of these days, that message will probably get through. But today isn't that day."

NUMB3RSSEASON4PREMIEREONSEPTEMBER28TH

It was a few days after what could be labelled as a 'conversation' with his brother and Charlie was sitting at his desk, grading papers. He had calculated the probabilities of every news station in the L.A area being the next one to be graced by the killer from what little information he had, the news stations at the top of the list being carefully watched by unmarked police cars, and Charlie was now trying to make himself feel better about his own shortcomings regarding the current case by making himself put big red marks on his student's shortcomings. He didn't bother lifting his head from the paper he was correcting as he heard the door to his office open.

"Pick up a pen and paper and start correcting, Fleinhardt," ordered Charlie. He was rewarded for his efforts by the feel of two hands coming over from behind him and covering his eyes. Pen and paper forgotten, he scrambled to get a hold of this surprise visitor's hands as he mumbled, "What the hell-,"

"Now, now Charlie, is that how you speak to every uninvited visitor to your office?"

Charlie pulled his head from under the looped arms of his visitor and turned around to glare at the speaker, "Don! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I'd teach my little brother some manners. If only dad had heard you, you'd be in so much trouble," grinned Don.

"And if your father knew that his eldest son still acts like a kid, I'm sure he would have some choice words for you too, Don," came another voice to the left of Charlie, towards the windows.

Charlie turned to look at the additional visitor, "Megan, hi. What are you two doing here? Got any new information that I could work with?"

"Nope. Just thought we'd pay our two favourite professors a visit," smiled Megan, "Where's Larry?"

"He just went to grab something to eat from the cafeteria. He should be back in a minute," Turning to his brother, he asked, "So, favourite professor, huh?"

"Don't flatter yourself. We were both referring to Larry. You're just a necessary evil," retorted Don, sinking into the chair in front of Charlie's desk and putting his feet up.

"Don't listen to him, Charlie. I quoted straight from the horse's mouth," said Megan, smacking Don lightly on the shoulder.

"Traitor," muttered Don.

"Liar," retorted Megan. "Nobody lies to my second favourite professor and gets away with it."

"Yes, but a little loyalty towards the boss would be nice, once in a while," said Don, "If it's the curls you want, I'm willing to let my hair grow out."

Charlie grinned at the spectacle before him, glad to see his brother, as well as Megan, take a moment off to just be. Larry had complained in private over the last few days how busy the latest case was keeping Megan and how little, if any, he saw of her. Charlie had silently concurred, although not with the long haired profiler in mind, but someone else.

Before Megan could reply to Don's offer, Larry walked in with two jelly-filled doughnuts coated with a layer of finely crushed sugar, thereby giving it the appearance of 'white food'. He halted comically at the sight of Don lounging in his friend's office, but his look of surprise turned into a look of delight when he noticed that Megan was with her team-mate and boss. "Don! Megan! It's good to see you… both!"

Charlie and Don exchanged an amused glance before Don replied, "I'm sure you're very happy to see us…both. Now how about you give me one of those doughnuts as a reward for this pleasant visit?" and before Larry could reply, Don leaned forward and plucked one out of his hands.

"Hey, that was mine!" protested Charlie to Don, as Larry chivalrously offered the remaining one to Megan who accepted with a smile and neatly split it in half and offered a part of it to Larry.

"Too bad, Chuck. Next time, get your own instead of sending other people out for it. Laziness is not an attractive quality," chided Don as he finished devouring the doughnut.

"You're one to talk," grumbled Charlie. "So, what were you guys doing today? You look exhausted."

"We were chasing down some tips that came in on the Crime Stoppers hot line, as well as paying some visits to some informants and undercover agents who might have heard something in the underground. It didn't lead to much. Criminals aren't too keen on giving up cop killers, they're actually doing them a favour, getting rid of some of the brass," said Don. "So, you want to tell me why you continue to misspell the word 'anomaly' when grading papers?"

Twenty minutes into the visit, Don looked at his watch and called out, "Megan, we better get going before David and Colby send out a search party for us."

"You're right. Let's go. See you, Larry. Charlie," said Megan.

An idea popped into Charlie's head, "Why don't Larry and I walk you to your cars? We need the fresh air anyways,"

"Walk us to our car?" asked Don, amused, "I thought we were the ones who carried the big, scary weapon and did the escorting and protecting?"

"Ha ha," said Charlie, rolling his eyes, "My intention is purely selfish. I get to pick up more doughnuts on the way back to my office."

"Careful Chuck, Amita might not like you as much is you gain too many pounds," warned Don as he led the way out of the office, Charlie by his side, Larry and Megan trailing along behind them at a little distance.

After a point, the four said goodbyes and Don and Megan walked towards their SUV in the visitor's parking lot and Larry and Charlie made their way towards the cafeteria. They were arguing good-naturedly about the upcoming Physics department paper airplane contest when the sounds of multiple gunshots filled the air, coming from the direction they had seen the two FBI agents walk off towards.

The mathematician and the physicist halted in their tracks and looked at each other worriedly.

"Megan," Larry worried instantly.

"Don," mimicked Charlie.

**TBC** (or not TBC, that is the question ;) )

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If I may: Muahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Ha...Ha. Ok, done now.

And there you have it. One of the two scenes I had in my head, which led to my writing this fic. The introduction, and this cliff-hanger. I know, I know, I'm evil. Does that surprise you? In fact, I'm so evil, I'm good baby ;) 

Man, cliff-hangers are fun, aren't they ;) I probably should not feel so happy, but I do. The fun I had writing this chapter (read: cliff-hanger) totally makes up for the misery the last chapter put me though. Well, this and the wonderful, awesome, heart-warming reviews left behind by most of you. Makes a girl feel special, and for that, a million thanks.

Ah, cliff-hangers...hehehe. :D


	7. Apprehension

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs isn't mine.

**Author's Note:**You really should not have been surprised that I'm so evil. And I should really learn to be nicer to the characters of the show. Sorry for the delay in posting, History decided to rear its ugly head. But now that the make-up exam has been moved to Friday, I thought I better quickly get this out of my head. Sara? You're right, Professor Eppes certainly did pick up quite a bit of - er – avoirdupois in S3. But because I got the UP line wrong, no donut for me ;)

Reference made to a season 3 ep... the one where Amita tries to give Larry a heart attack by making him run a lot. There is a little bit of swearing in this chapter but nothing fancy and it's probably heard on the show in any case. But a fair warning, just in case.

* * *

**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Part VII)**

Charlie and Larry took off in the direction of the visitor's parking lot, from where the sound of gunshots had come from, at a speed that would have made Amita proud, had she been helping them train for a journey to space with a stopwatch in hand. They ran in the opposite direction; whereas the university's students were running away from the source of disturbance, for good reason, the two professors were running towards it. Hearts thundering, they did not lessen their pace until they caught sight of the two people causing their worry. Megan was kneeling over a figure lying prone on the ground whilst Don was standing about 15 feet away with his gun pointed at the stranger. Faltering to a stop a little way behind Don, both Larry and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. They carefully approached Don from either side, not knowing the exact protocol for a civilian at a time like this.

"Don?" said Charlie, cautiously. His brother did not acknowledge his presence by his side but continued to back-up his partner as she turned the strange man to lie on his stomach.

Megan called out as she handcuffed him, saying, "He's still alive. Sneaky bastard is wearing a vest."

Charlie was carefully giving his brother the once-over, barely noticing the fact that Don had now lowered his gun, now that danger was past. What had caught Charlie's attention were the two spots of discoloration on his brother's black jacket. He unconsciously reached out a hand towards them and as he felt something wet meet his prying fingers and saw the crimson now covering his hand, he shakily whispered, "Don!"

Don shook himself out of whatever daze he had seemed to be in to see what was bothering his brother and followed his gaze to Charlie's fingers near his jacket. Pulling the lapel aside to reveal his right side, he caught sight of the two spots of dark red on his shirt and watched almost disinterestedly as they grew larger and larger in size.

Both brothers lifted their eyes to meet each other's gaze at the same time: Charlie's eyes filled with horror and fear whilst there were traces of confusion and almost wonderment in Don's.

"Damn," murmured Don, as his mind finally acknowledged the fact that he had been shot, and twice, no less. Without realising it, his knees began to give way and he hardly noticed the impact of the tarmac against his knees, or the feel of Charlie's arms on one side and Larry's on the other as they tried to control his descent. Vaguely, he heard the physicist's quivering voice call to out to Megan.

Charlie's mind was only a split second behind Don's in acknowledging the bullet wounds. Ironic, considering he was the one known for his quick mental processes in the family. Don's sudden inability to remain standing spurred him into action, as he wrapped his arms around his brother's left side while Larry quickly mimicked his movements on Don's right, the grip of the two professors the only thing keeping Don from collapsing fully onto the ground. While Larry called out to Megan for help, Charlie quickly ran his hand over his brother's back, checking for any wetness that would signify whether the bullet went through-and-through. When he found none, Charlie didn't know whether to sigh in relief or to worry; no exit wound meant no extra source of bleeding but it also meant the bullets were lodged somewhere in his brother's body.

Noticing an increase in the amount of his brother's weight that he was supporting, Charlie leaned back a little to look at his brother. Don's head was bent forward, almost resting on Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie couldn't tell if his brother's eyes were open or not. As he was about to open his mouth and ask his brother to stay awake, Megan appeared in Larry's place and gently, they both lowered Don to lie flat on the ground.

"Damn it, Don. Had to through a wet blanket over the celebratory dinner I was planning didn't you?" muttered Megan. Pulling Don's jacket aside and tearing open a part of his shirt by putting her fingers in the hole left by a bullet, Charlie got a clear view of his brother's wounds, noticing one source of the bleeding located mid-way through Don's rib-cage and the other below it. A part of Charlie wondered why the shooter's aim had been so awry today, considering he had shot his previous victims centre mass, showing considerably skill. His unanswered query was answered by Megan as she put pressure on one of Don's wounds and pulled Charlie's hand to put pressure on the other.

"Had to move in front of me, didn't you? Never mind that he was aiming for me and not you and that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Over-protective, chauvinistic… " muttered Megan. Pulling out a cell-phone from her pocket, she speed-dialled to the FBI's emergency number and succinctly put in a request for immediate medical assistance and backup, giving the location before hanging up.

Turning around to face Larry who was standing behind her and watching with wide eyes, she said, "If that ass twitches even a little bit, tell me," motioning to the handcuffed stranger, "And send someone to get campus security. Now!" indicating the small crowd of students who had slowly crept back, much like passer-by's who slowed down to observe an accident on the road. It was common knowledge across the campus that federal agents were known to frequent a few of the staff, including one professor's brother and one's girlfriend.

Charlie, however, barely paid any of this mind. His attention was focused solely on the figure he was kneeling by. Don was barely conscious, with his eyes at half-mast. The minute rise and fall of Don's chest under his hand assured Charlie that his brother was still of this world, although, more disturbing was the fact that he could _hear_ his brother's each breath, shallow as they were, with an increasing wheezing quality to it. For a moment, Charlie felt a sudden flash of anger, directed towards his brother. CalSci was _his_ refuge, _his_ sanctuary, _his_ little world where violence and death and irrational human behaviour did not exist. What right had Don to impose his own world here? To bring blood and grief in the form of a crazed killer to Charlie's doorstep? Charlie suddenly wished that someone would come and cover his eyes again, like his brother had done only half-an-hour ago in his office, to save him the grief of seeing Don like this.

Charlie's anger was momentary, and any vestiges of it were banished in face of a moment of awareness by his brother. Charlie almost jerked in surprise when he felt Don feebly grasp Charlie's arm closest to his in a weak grip, and barely audible, whispered, "Buddy."

Charlie had barely gotten over his surprise and was about to reply when he felt two strong hands grip his shoulders from behind and forcibly remove him from his position beside his brother. He saw the paramedics take his place and was about to go back to Don when he felt another pair of hands on him, this time Larry's who murmured, "Charles. Perhaps we should let the medics do their jobs."

Charlie stood passively and watched two uniformed men work on his brother, not being able to see what they were doing as their bodies blocked their actions. Before he knew it, they had Don on a stretcher and were loading him into the waiting ambulance that he noticed at that moment. He unconsciously began to step towards it, to accompany his brother to hospital, when Larry's grip strengthened and his friend said, "You can't go with him, Charlie. You have to let him go alone."

Charlie tried his best to not make more of that statement than what it was. Side by side, the two friends watched as the ambulance doors were slammed shut, blocking Don from sight, and the sirens roared to life and the emergency vehicle sped away.

Charlie was still gazing at the spot the ambulance had been when the form of a slightly out of breath Mildred Finch stepped into his view.

"Charlie. What the hell happened?" asked Millie in a panic, noticing the dark spot of blood right in the middle of the visitor's parking lot, the abundance of white and blue LAPD cars and one or two SUV's. In the chaos of everything, she didn't notice Megan among the law enforcement offices as the scene around them was cordoned off. She had been sitting in her office, calmly reading a few reports with Vivaldi playing in the background. She hadn't heard the shots and the only reason she was here now was because a student had come barging in and saying the she really needed to get down to the parking lot. She had arrived just in time to see an ambulance whizz past and her James Bond of a professor standing there staring at the back of it with blood covering his hands and a look of absolute grief on his face.

Charlie finally looked Millie in the eye and said simply, without any emotion in his voice:

"My brother just got shot"

**TBC**

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I'm cruel, aren't I? It must be a genetic thing.

I read a pretty interesting FBI report on gun shot wounds and their effects. Apparently, its the psychological effect that does you in, physically, being shot has the same impact of being hit with a baseball. Combine the effects of adrenaline, you can get shot and not notice it. If you're a fan-ficcer who likes shooting people, let me know, I'll send you the link.

I know not any medical mojo, so forgiveness is required. I can, however, tell you that it's a bad idea to be a monarch. Sooner or later, the unhappy, hungry peasants or the power hungry bourgeoise are going to chop your head off. Simba, are you sure you can't wait to be king?

Reviews are gold. Wish me luck for my History make-up. Next chapter should be up this weekend, hopefully. See you then :)

A million thanks to those who reviewed. I'll reply to all individually once Stalin, Lenin and Napoleon allow me.


	8. Interrogation

**Author:**DreamBrother

**Disclaimer:**I had nothing to with the show.

**Author's Note:**Sorry for the mega-delay guys. For some weird reason, every time I opened this document, I fell asleep. Hopefully, you won't fall asleep while reading this, although it'd be very funny if you did :) Swing with me on the medical and procedural stuff, folks. And I passed my History exam! Yay:D

All those who reviewed, I cannot thank you enough. Try not to zonk out while reading, ok?

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**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Part VIII)**

Megan entered the interrogation room quietly and sat in the chair opposite the handcuffed man. She placed the folder she had in her hands onto the table and opened it, taking out 4 photographs and placing them, one by one, in front of the prisoner, saying:

"Special Agents Peter Collins and Liam Harper, FBI. Special Agent Richard Gossard, ATF. Special Agent Melissa McCready, DEA. All shot dead by you. Any more you want to add to the list?" asked Megan, finally lifting her head and looking at the man in front of her with a quiet fury in her eyes.

"Don't _you_ have someone else's picture to add? I'm counting one less," said the man, glancing at the pictures.

"No, you're not," stated Megan coldly.

"Ah, so he survived then? You'd think hollow-point bullets would have done the trick, even if he wasn't the intended target. Impatient man… I would have got to him eventually, he only needed to wait a second," mused the killer, not bothered at all by the subject matter and his implications.

"He's fine, no thanks to you," added Megan. It was true, thought Megan, if you defined fine as being in the ICU on life support and under heavy sedation. "You haven't answered my question. Are there any other murders you've committed that you'd like to tell us about? You have nothing to lose."

"I understand that, my dear. No, there's no one else," said the pepper-haired man, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Being shot, even with a vest on, was bound to do some damage. The colourful bruising all over the man's torso was evidence of that. "You needn't worry about yourself, I'm not going to try anything with you," he added, motioning to David who was standing next to the two-way window, having quietly entered with Megan but not getting directly involved in the interrogation.

"He's here for your safety, not mine," said Megan coolly, "He's the most cool-headed from among us and the one most likely to stop me if I suddenly decide to beat you to death with the heel of my shoe. The team-mate most likely to kill you, however, is on the other side of the mirror. You better hope its bullet proof."

The prisoner simply smiled and said, "You're telling this to a man who's on the fast track to getting a needle in his arm. Why not save the government some money and time by doing it yourself?

"Because my boss would really hate to fill out all that paperwork regarding prisoners dying in custody when he gets back to work," said Megan sarcastically. Taking out another picture from the folder and placing it on top of the other ones in front of the man, she asked, "Anything you'd like to say about this particular agent?"

The man simply glanced at the photo and looked back at Megan, not saying a word but his eyes doing all the talking.

Unperturbed, Megan spoke, "Special Agent Neal Ament, FBI, killed in the line of duty two years ago. When his mother, your wife, was shot and killed by a car-jacker when he was five years old, you were honourably discharged from the Marines so you could take care of him. Is that correct?"

"Yes," confirmed the man.

"So explain to me this: Why would you want other families to go through the same grief you did? Or did you not care about your son? Hated his decision to join the FBI and not the Marines, perhaps? Follow in his father's footsteps…?" asked Megan, the profiler in her looking for the correct buttons to push to get the correct answer out of the man.

"It wasn't anything like that," gritted Dylan Ament in frustration, "I supported my son a 100. It's his job and the fact that you people know nothing about taking care of your own that got him killed! I was trying to resolve that so other people wouldn't have to suffer like I did!"

"You murdered 4 agents and almost killed another! That's 5 families you've put through your pain. How is that helping?" asked Megan in disbelief.

"It was for the greater good. Sacrifices had to be made. I had no personal vendetta against any of the agents. But you people needed to learn! The agent who was with you, he learned. He noticed that I was a threat; he did what he had to do to protect his own. Hell, you should be thanking me! If it wasn't me, if it was some random gang-banger out to kill a Fed, both of you would have been dead," theorized the father. "If my son had had proper backup, if the agents around him had been paying proper attention, he wouldn't have died. You don't pay enough attention. You always need to be aware of your surroundings, no matter how safe you think you are!"

Megan simply pursed her lips as she looked at the eager man in front of her, before looking down and gathering the pictures and putting them neatly into the folder and closing it. With a sigh, she looked at Ament and said, "I do not know what you were told about the circumstances regarding your son's death, nor was I personally involved. But I _can_ tell you that, reading the report, his death was not preventable. Nothing short of some psychic predicting the chain of unfortunate events that led to his demise could have saved him. But these 4 agents shouldn't have died, and my friend shouldn't have had to take those bullets for me."

Standing up and letting David exit first, Megan paused at the doorway to say:

"I didn't know your wife and son, but I do know that they would be deeply ashamed of you, and what you did. It's people like you, Mr. Ament, that require us to put our lives on the line in the first place."

ABIGFATBEARWASCHASEDUPATREEBYA7KGCATINNEWJERSEY. HA.

Charlie worked away diligently at the blackboard in his office, the numbers pouring from his mind into the chalk he was holding, the clacking sound of the chalk not even registering in his mind. He jumped and the chalk screeched to a halt as he noticed Amita's shoulder obscuring the blank spot on the board he was about to write on, as his girlfriend leaned against it, head tilted, staring at Charlie.

"Charlie," said Amita, and he could hear the recrimination in her voice from one word alone.

"Hey, Amita. Do you mind moving a bit? I really need to get this done before I lose my train of thought," requested Charlie, waving the hand with the chalk in it vaguely.

"You don't _need_ to get this done, you're needed elsewhere," said Amita, not moving from her position.

"Last time I checked, I was still a professor here and I still had students to teach. Unless, of course, they suddenly decide to stay away from the math professor whose brother gets shot in the school parking lot. But since that hasn't happened yet, I think I'm needed here," reasoned Charlie firmly, continuing the equation he was writing on a small leftover blank spot on the board, decreasing the size of his writing to fit in as many numbers as he could.

When Amita reached over and grabbed the chalk holder from his hands, he turned and faced her directly, hands on his hips:

"Look, I don't exactly see the point of going to the hospital so I can see my brother sleep. He's not going to be waking up anytime soon, the doctors will tell us when they decrease his sedation or if anything goes wrong. ICU visiting hours are strict so it's not like I need to spell my dad so he can rest. Besides," said Charlie, opening a drawer in his desk and taking out another stick of chalk, "I'm not delving into P vs. NP again, if that's got everyone so worried. If I didn't freak out during the 6 hours of surgery it took for the doctors to remove all the little fragments of bullets from my brother's body and to stabilize him, I'm not going to freak out now."

"You're talking almost as if you blame Don for getting himself shot,"

"Well, he's not exactly guilt-free in all this, is he? He knew there was a man out there after federal agents, yet he still decided to wander out in the open. And it wasn't even work related, he just came to visit. And," Charlie emphasized by putting his finger in the air, "He didn't even _notice_ the fact that he was shot until I pointed out to him. If getting shot doesn't matter to him, it doesn't matter to me."

Both Charlie and Amita knew that he was talking irrationally, and letting his emotions overrule him, worry being conveniently ignored through anger. Larry, one of the few people who would have been able to get Charlie's head straight, was keen to avoid being alone with his friend as much as he could. Although Larry regretted the fact that Don had been seriously injured, if a choice had to be made between which of the two FBI agents got injured that day, without a moment's hesitation, he would pick Megan's safety above Don's. Larry knew that, Charlie knew that, and both knew that the other knew it.

Amita sighed and placed the chalk holder that was in her hands, down. Before leaving, she said, "Just don't do anything you might regret, or something that would hurt Don when he wakes up, and gets better."

Charlie was only able to work for a few seconds after Amita left before he paused and, hardly noticing it, snapped the chalk he was holding in two with his thumb. Throwing the broken pieces down, he sat at his desk and pulled a few blank pages towards him and began to ruthlessly map out a very difficult and unmerciful final for his grad students.

**TBC**

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Slightly nervous about this chapter...oh well, whats done is done.

Just got a few scenes left to write, as well as an epilogue that I already have in mind. If it doesn't get too long, I'll combine the two to make one chapter. But this story should be over in 2 chapters, max. My results are coming out Thursday afternoon and I'm pretty sure I'll be a quivering mess that day, and depending on my grades, either ecstacically happy or deeply depressed. Either Oxford/UCL bound next year, or applying to any uni who'll take me cause I have two quid to rub together. Student life... so not fun at times.

So, hopefully, see you tomm with the end of this fic. If I disappear, pray for my sanity.


	9. Conclusion

**Disclaimer:**In the immortal words of the wheelchair dude in Stuck on You: 'Deny, Deny, Deny!'

**Author's Note:**Well… I got my result: ABB. It's not that great, but it could have been a lot worse. And when you've got a support system like my family and friends, it'll be ok. And heck, I'm a writer, aren't I? I'll dazzle them with my personal statement :)

But first things first, some credit for this story must go to **Shaolingrrl**, who loves plot and so, sparked off my first plot-heavy fic.

As you must have noticed with previous chapters, time jumps a lot in this story.

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**Guarding the Guardians**

**(Epilogue)**

Charlie quietly wandered into the house and took and moment to take a look at his surroundings before silently closing the door behind him. Putting his bag on one of the dining room chairs, he poked his head into the kitchen just in time to see his dad frantically wave a cloth napkin at a smoking frying pan.

"Dad? Need any help?" asked Charlie, eyeing the frying pan suspiciously.

"Hi son. No, I got this under control. Just a minor altercation with tonight's dinner but nothing to worry about," coughed Alan, fanning the smoke towards the kitchen's open windows. "You just got home? How were the finals?"

"I don't think I've made any new friends among my students but it doesn't look like they did _too_ badly. Where's Don?" asked Charlie.

"He just went upstairs a few minutes ago. Said something about taking a nap before everyone comes over tonight," informed Alan.

"Ok," and just as quickly as Charlie had popped his head into the kitchen, he disappeared, leaving Alan behind to scrap the ruined experiment off the frying pan and into the trashcan.

Charlie grabbed his bag from the dining room chair and with the intention of having a nice cold shower after a such a humid day, bounded up the stairs. He was almost halfway up the stairs to the first floor landing when the sight of his brother sitting on a step had him stumbling and quickly grabbing the banister to stop his falling flat on his face.

"Hey buddy."

"Don? Why the hell are you sitting here? You nearly gave me a heart attack!" asked Charlie.

"Well, if you remembered the old house rule of no running up, or down, the stairs, the heart attack, my youthful brother, could have been avoided," replied Don from his position halfway up the staircase, elbows on his knees and head leaned tilted against the wall.

Once Charlie's racing heart had calmed a bit, he took a better look at his brother, noticing the slight hint of weariness, "Ok. I'll let that one slide. Why are you sitting here? Dad said you were taking a nap."

"Well, to take a nap would mean first getting to my room. Got tired halfway, decided to sit a bit," Don looked around a bit, "It's not that bad actually, and I get to see the house from a new perspective."

Biting down on his lip a bit as he thought, Charlie finally decided on a course of action and put his bag down on the step near Don's feet and eased himself to sit next to his brother, keeping himself pressed against the banister in order to not brush against his brother's injured side too much. Don had come home from the hospital a week and a half ago, and had slowly but steadily been getting better, with more time now spent awake rather than in sleep, be it a drug induced slumber or the rest of the weary.

The brothers sat shoulder to shoulder, silent. While they _had_ interacted, especially since Don had been released from hospital, there were undercurrents of things left unsaid or unmentioned between them, from both sides and both had felt it. Instead of choosing to confront it, they had carried on with the façade that everything was fine, helped by the fact that Don hardly had the energy to do much these days, and Charlie had the genuine excuse of being caught up in the drama of imminent finals, with students coming desperate, at the last minute, to have certain confusing topics explained to them.

Don was the first to break the rapidly awkward-turning silence with a question, "So-uh- everything alright at school? No repercussions from…?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I think the students are more afraid of crashing and burning in their finals rather than whether any shooters, as well as half the city's law enforcement personnel and paramedics, are paying visits to their campus.

"That's good," commented Don.

"Yeah… the Chemistry guys had taken it upon themselves to remove the…uh… stain from the parking lot. The cleaning solutions available on the market weren't working so they came up with their own. I think test solution 7 finally worked," said Charlie, half lost in memory. Ever since he had gone back to CalSci, two days after Don was shot, he had purposefully avoided looking in the direction of the visitor's parking lot, not wanting to see the place where his brother might have died. He didn't know that some students had noticed this, most especially when one math student, Bryan, had approached him with a question just in sight of the big red stain on the tarmac, and while answering his question, Charlie had rotated them so that his back was towards the parking lot and Bryan faced it. Bryan, always perceptive, had connected the dots, and mentioned it to his Chemistry major room-mate and as everybody knew, those Chemistry cuckoos were always up for a challenge.

"That's good… wouldn't have wanted it to become a part of CalSci history, having its own special mention in the campus tour."

"Or have it become a thing for ghost stories… kinda like that blood stain in The Canterville Ghost," When this fictional reference earned him raised eyebrows from Don, Charlie protested, "What? I do read _some_ books outside of the math world…besides, Susan dragged me to a stage adaptation of it once, when we were in London."

Don simply smiled and nodded and silence descended again. Suddenly finding his fingernails to be very fascinating, Don began:

"So, Charlie, listen-," Don paused, unsure of how to proceed, "I -uh- I'm really sorry things happened where they did. It was stupid of me to go into a public place, with lots of students and civilians around when there was the slightest chance that I, or Megan, could be the next target. I never meant for the bloody and violent part of my world to intrude so much on yours."

"So your regret in all this is the _place_ where you were shot?" summed up Charlie in disbelief.

"Isn't it yours as well, Charlie? You don't think I've noticed the fact that you're ticked off at me? That of all the places where I could have been shot, I had to get shot right in the heart of your world of academia, logic and rationality?" countered Don, glancing at his brother.

When Charlie made no attempt to deny these accusations, Don continued, "Look, I know the chances of something like this happening again at your school are pretty much nil, but I understand if you don't want me or any of my agents coming over anymore. And you shouldn't have to come all the way over the federal building every time we have a new case or more data, so… we'll figure something out."

"No, I don't want that," said Charlie quietly.

"Don't want what?" questioned Don for clarity's sake.

"You not to come around the school anymore. That day, you weren't around for official business. You came to see your brother. And as much as I hate the fact that you had to get shot at a place where I feel secure, what I don't like more is the fact that you got shot at all," Charlie held up a hand to stop Don as he opened his mouth to say something, "I know, Don, you had to protect Megan. I'm not saying I would have preferred her to be the one who got shot, over you. As much as I hate to admit it, nobody could have predicted that the killer would show up at CalSci and go after you two. But we shouldn't have to suffer the consequences of that man's actions more than we already have."

Taking a few seconds to digest all that his brother had said, Don nodded in acquiescence. Silence prevailed once more, but it was a comfortable one. However, the sound of a cat meowing jilted them from their own thoughts as a orange, tabby feline calmly wandered in and curled up on the bottom step and began washing itself.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Don in surprise.

"I see it too. I think Mrs. Weatherbee's darling Precious jumped in through an open window," Charlie guessed.

"Hey. You remember that old parrot of dad's? What happened to it?"

"You mean Feynbird?"

_"Feynbird?"_echoed Don.

"Well, I had to name the parrot something, since Dad wouldn't. Feynbird…Richard Feyn_man_… Well, I thought it was appropriate," defended Charlie.

"You're a bit cuckoo, you know that? Anyway, you don't think our little feline friend here…" Don let the sentence hang; very sure that Charlie could fill in the blanks for himself.

"Committed parrot murder? Don, be serious. Feynbird wasn't exactly Tweety bird. The parrot was taller than the cat; Dad probably gave it away… I hope," concluded Charlie.

Both brothers stared at the cat, who in turn had fixed its unyielding glare on the siblings.

"Ok, the cat is starting to freak me out now. Mind helping me up to my room?" asked Don.

"Sure, bro," Charlie got up and gave his brother a hand up; putting his arm around Don's waist once his brother was standing. "I'm glad you're ok, Don," said Charlie quietly.

Don snorted, "You call this ok? I have the stamina of an 80yr old man."

"I meant-,"

"I know what you meant, bro," smiled Don and gave his brother a squeeze on his shoulder. "Now would you mind picking up the pace, or have you turned into a grandmother without my noticing?"

THERESATYPHOONGOINGONOUTSIDEIKIDYOUNOT

Much like at the dinner held at the Eppes home what seemed like a lifetime ago, dessert was once again provided by Professor Larry Fleinhardt and his container of liquid nitrogen. However, this time Alan had whipped up a delicious apple pie to compliment the vanilla ice cream, to go with the dinner of roast turkey. Earlier that day, Don had stuck his head into the kitchen and asked whether somehow he had done a Rip Van Winkle and slept all the way to November. Alan had replied with, "Well, it's a thanksgiving, but no pilgrims are involved with this one." Don had merely looked confused and Alan was left to wonder how his son, the master of picking up subtle differences, could miss the simple stuff by a mile.

"Mr. Eppes, I have got to say, this is the second-best apple I've ever had," commented Colby as he ploughed through his helping. At Alan's amused look he clarified, "First prize still goes to my mom. I swear, she does some hoodoo voodoo with hers. But this is a very close second."

"Sorry man, will have to disagree with you. First prize goes to this diner near my school in New York. Seriously, manna from heaven, that apple pie. Your mom's pie and Alan's pie can duke it out for second," interjected David from across the table.

"Oh no. Now I'm going to have to referee this argument at the office for the rest of the week," murmured Megan as David and Colby began to quibble over the table while still eating pie. "You sure there's nothing I can do to speed up the healing process, Don?"

Don smirked and said, "You can always make them behave by taking them to the gym and showing them just how black your black belt in Krav Maga is. Through demonstration, of course."

"Of course," agreed Megan, a sadistic gleam in her eyes.

David and Colby exchanged a worried glance and said at the same time:

"End of discussion-,"

"It's ok; Alan's pie is the best-,"

"-No need for any kind of demonstrations."

"-I'll take Megan's word for her abilities."

Millie laughed and added, "If only I could handle _my_ quarrelling professors the same efficient way."

Amita and Charlie looked at each other, bemused, while Larry continued to sit quietly next to Megan. For some time now, especially around Don, Larry had become more subdued than usual, and Don knew that eventually he would have to have a talk with the physicist and assure him that his guilt was unjustified. That would certainly be one… interesting talk, between the cosmologist and the FBI agent.

Conversation around the table ceased as the ring tone of Don's cell-phone filled the air. Don quickly answered it as 8 pairs of eyes watched him.

"No, I do _not_ have a VW to sell, you've got the wrong number," said Don's frustrated voice and then he hung up. Noticing that he was the centre of attention, he explained, "Fifth call today. People keep calling me, asking whether the VW is still up for grabs."

The slight hint of apprehension that had filled the air when Don's phone rang, even though everyone knew that Don was still on leave and had yet to start desk duty, disappeared and conversation picked up from where it was left off, only to be interrupted by Megan's shriek:

"There's something under this table! I felt something furry brush against my foot!" tensed Megan.

Larry ducked under the table and appeared with an orange cat in his hands, patting its head, "Charles, I did not know you were in possession of a cat. And it's quite a large cat…"

Charlie exchanged an amused glance with his brother before answering, "Apparently, its taken possession of us. I think it has developed a taste for cuckoos."

**Khatum (The End)**

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Phew, all done. The cat was inspired by finding out that one of the problems the crew faced when filming at the original Craftman were the presence of multiple cats, who had to be locked in a room during filming. Meow. Go to YouTube, search for Numb3rs TV Land Confidential.

Wanted to come full circle (as with Cat Burglar), hence the dinner. I want apple pie.

Thanks a million to all those who've reviewed, especially all those who answered my queries regarding protocol and bullet matching etc and stuff, appreciate it. And even if you haven't reviewed, no worries. I'm going to try and finish my alphabet track now, 12 letters to go. I'm taking title suggestions for X and Z, if anybody's got any.

Had fun writing this, even though it was a kind of an emotional rollercoaster in terms of what was going on (and is still going on) with my life these days. Ha. See you around, people :)


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